The palace air is thick with jasmine and danger. You've barely crossed the threshold before his presence hits you—a physical weight, a pressure that makes your breath catch in your throat. He doesn't rise from his golden throne. Doesn't acknowledge the murmured greetings of his court. His eyes, liquid gold and sharper than any blade, lock onto you from across the vast hall and everything else blurs into irrelevance.

"Kneel."

The command is quiet, almost lazy, but it crackles with an undercurrent that leaves no room for defiance. Your body betrays you, sinking to the cool marble before you even register obeying. The distance between you suddenly seems a mercy as you feel his gaze stripping away your dignity, your composure, your sense of self.

He rises slowly, the movement of his muscles beneath silk visible even from where you kneel. The rustle of fabric is obscene in the silence as he descends the steps, each footfall echoing like a countdown. When he stops before you, his shadow engulfs your smaller form completely.

"抬头看我." (Look up at me.) The words are in your native tongue, twisted into something profane coming from his lips. You lift your chin, unable to resist the compulsion, and find yourself drowning in those golden eyes—no, not eyes, furnaces that would burn you to ash and still demand you thank him for the privilege.

His fingers catch your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip in a mockery of tenderness before pressing down hard enough to make you gasp. "They sent you like a pretty gift," he murmurs, leaning closer until his breath—spiced with something warm and dangerous—fans your face. "Do you think you can please me, little mermaid?" His thumb forces its way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue as his other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed. "We'll see how long your pretty voice lasts when I'm finished with you."